Queue Up Poems | Examples

Halloween treats

Halloween TREATS 'LAY' on the STREET 
In the 'GREY', the SCENE PRISTINE 
Costumes MIXED and FIXED as the children roam in fleet

Children of all 'AGES', DRESS to IMPRESS
Ready for their 'STAGES', to present LOUD and PROUD 
Waiting to EXPRESS at the door of the ADDRESS 

FOOLS and GHOULS and 'WITCHES' too 
QUEUE up in 'STITCHES' to show off their BOO!
And collect their TREATS as they meander along the STREETS so new

Back Seat Blues

He bought himself a tandem
In the hope that he would meet
A suitable young lady who’d
Ride on his back seat.
He took it to the Dance Hall
But didn’t stand a chance 
Cycling not seeming to fit in
With ideas of modern romance

He’d offer one a lift and
See her expression slip 
When handed a bike cape
And a pair of cycle clips
Then he had his eureka moment
When he persuaded one to try it
Selling it as essential part of his
New Calorie controlled diet.

The idea rapidly spread 
And much to his surprise 
He managed to turn it into
A very lucrative franchise
He’s a billionaire these days
His happiness complete
As the ladies queue up
To ride on his back seat.

Love Poem Goes South

I wished to find the words for you - so beautiful and dear,
The pretty ones that you would be so happy just to hear - 
And when I found the very bestest, selected just for you, 
I’d put them into a poem’s lines, so they would ring so true. 

It took time to find these charmers that like to hide from me. 
“Queue up in a line”, I said, “so my beloved can see!” 
But these dumb clods never do what I command them to. 
This is the silly way they lined up to prepare for you to view:
“Soft like silk, a lullaby, a rainbow, an azure sky, 
Verdant woodlands, a butterfly, snowy peaks, apple pie.” 

“You must tell her what she means to you and what is in your heart. 
I’m afraid this is not good enough, it’s only just a start.” 
“We’re walking out”, said these dopes, “of your love poem, I’m afraid.
What you are asking of us stiffs is over our pay grade.” 

It was then I thought, with these mad guys, I should make amends.
If I cannot command them, then perhaps we could be friends. 
And so, my dear, it’s time I fear, to pause and to regroup. 
Because these words have turned on me and turned this poem to poop.

Qualms

Qualms, I've had too few to admit to you.
Scruples quadrupled, I've had some doubts as well.
Leaving me squeamish, uneasy, unwell.
I fear my regrets will breed and accrue.

Like palms, qualms are arrayed with spiral heads.
Their tough, frilly spiky fronds need tuning.
And rough scruples, misgivings need pruning,
As the spikes can get in your eyes and beds.

When qualms queue up like guests uninvited,
Confront and challenge them with steely gaze.
Eyeball to eyeball their gawk will erase,
Like gatecrashes they'll leave when confronted.

Qualms only succeed when you let them in.
Nip them in the bud, before they begin.

Queue Up For This One

DQ
      IQ
       GQ
    All have something in common
       Dig?

No Lie Zone

When Putin is telling the truth
The frogs queue up at the Kissing Booth
But the Russian Bear
Growls, "You should take care!
Vlad squirts cyanide from his tooth!"

I'Ve Been Working In the Crematory

I've been working in the crematory,
All the livelong sob story,
Can’t you hear the gas jets breathing?
Play too close and you’ll get urned.
Plus we only queue up two-a-day,
So you could really mess us up,
too.
Till six o’clock when on the dot,
The valves are turned to plumb true,
The breathing stops,
Yabadabadoo.

World Poetry Day

I taught of it to be a day filled with ink and empty paper
Where ill paint myself rainbow 
Blank paper scribbled with ink should rain upon me
In appreciation for the proper use of poetry 
Today every word play will queue up in a cemetery 
Exhuming words buried in my archive
To march forth to me for their salary 
For they slaughtered for me every life alive.  

World Poetry Day |2020 
©Pensayf

Losing Self

Losing self 



I lose myself 
In many colours of my child's laughter 
In soft caress of those candid smiles 
In sleepless nights of innocent cries,

I lose myself 
On busy roads that once led to school 
On weekends usually long awaited 
On festivals and family celebrations,

I lose myself 
As I pass by the shopping malls 
As I wait outside of cinema halls
As I queue up for Nando's n chillies,

I lose myself 
To relive memories etched in time.


Written October 31, 2018
© Dr Upma A. Sharma

The Pilgrims Picnic

Who knows who would 
'true valiant be'
when you can't see 
beyond the end of your nose?
who knows?

It has to be Sunday some day
and today is some day for some
hymns and hers (towels in the bathroom)
down the stairs
toast and preserves in the conservatory
not mandatory 
but it's Sunday.

God must be reeling in shock 
wondering what he has done 
Jesus is getting the backlash 
it's always a Sunday for some.

I'm going to queue up for my 
holy wine and wafer 
it's 
safer not to sit upon the fence 
and where else can you find this
kind of entertainment 
for a pound or even less,
for fifty
pence?

beyond when I pass into 
poets corner 
where the monks and Friars 
sort wheat from the chaff 
I shall laugh 
I shall rhyme 
have a bloody marvellous time 
Who knows who
'..would true valiant be..'

Dedication

Dedication 


Perseverance of the intense bees;
and iron-will of the frisky spider,
Tiny self disciplined ants queue up;
ascend cliffs in endeavour,
Subtle Moth embraces flame;
while robust win the muscle game,

Passion at borders sets ablaze; 
high heaps of enemies at the gate,
Dedicated heroes of war return;
as twenty-one cannons decorate.


Written Feb 21, 2018
By Dr. Upma A. Sharma, India

The Nit Nurse An Itchy Poem

The Nit nurse would come around once a month
To my primary school usually after lunch 
We'd all queue up in a line
All the kids and friends of mine.

One by one the nurse would examine our hair 
Once in a while the scruffier one's in the class
Were given a brown paper bag and letter for their mum
And told to run home fast.

You could say I was a bit slow
But it took me years before I got to know what was in that 
Brown paper bag.

I never got one myself
My hair must have been in perfect health
But I don't know why but I'm suddenly beginning to itch
I swear and it's not just my hair
Do you feel itchy now too?
OOh.



Peter Dome.Copyright.2015.May.

The Next Dance

The afterglow of the polls
Has refused to leave the sky
The euphoria like never before 
Still tingles my countrymen.

Some are elated
At the dire switch
From ‘business as usual’

Others draw gore
With their senseless machete
That victory does not befit the chosen.
And they hide within fanaticism.

But the blood of the ten
And others are crying.

Come next dance,
The voice behind the heads
Of the vagabonds would
Come out like a masquerade
To dance again.

And voter will queue up
Like zombies in blood-stained
Corps Members costumes to
Teach them one more lesson.

Lesser of the Two

nothing sums up a
quitter like s/he who 
invests themselves in
“the lesser of two evils,”
bathing themselves in
supposed pragmatism,
walking with an illusion
of certainty that when 
faced with two choices,
rather than demand a
third, or demand to 
have a different system of
choosing altogether, or
even more, to throw up
the whole puzzle in the
air to watch it come crashing
down into blissfully 
destructive & completely
deserved chaos, it is 
more “appropriate” to 
cave, queue up & 
follow in line, one step
in front of the other off the
conveyor belt & into the
meat grinder, in hopes
that the safe little world
of comfort in which 
one dwells will not be
upset.

Breathe

~~~~~~~~~~   *-*   ~~~~~~~~~~



Suspire at ease
Queue up - STAND like nothing's awry
Suspire at ease
You're in trek of unfeigned sentience
Never croon unsung poetry
Abscond from death's periphery
Suspire at ease.



                                                                           ~~~~~~~~~~   *-*   ~~~~~~~~~~

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                       *-* (0.0) jun-jun villanueva

    *-* (0.0) " RONDELET " contest

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